


Kicked Out of Time

by shingo_the_pest



Category: White Collar
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-06-11
Updated: 2010-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:25:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2104398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shingo_the_pest/pseuds/shingo_the_pest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal suddenly finds himself in the past, alone, and not sure what's going on. <em>“Do I know you?” Peter asked. Neal’s smile slowly dropped.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Kicked Out of Time, Part 1  
 **Author:** [](http://shingo-the-pest.livejournal.com/profile)**shingo_the_pest**  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Genre and/or Pairing:** Neal and Peter, may become slash  
 **Spoilers:** none  
 **Warnings:** WIP  
 **Summary:** Neal suddenly finds himself in the past, alone, and not sure what's going on. _“Do I know you?” Peter asked. Neal’s smile slowly dropped._

 

Neal stepped up to the Burke's place, feeling relieved and safe again. He knocked on the door, and glanced up and down the sunny street.

El answered, looking curious. "Can I help you?"

Neal blinked and his smile went from apologetic for interrupting on Peter's day off to falsely blinding, his default and most defensive mode.

"Yeah, um, could I talk to Peter for a moment?"

"Oh, well sure. Here, hold on just a second. Peter, there's someone here for you at the door!"

An uncomfortable feeling tightened in Neal's stomach.

From back in the dining room, Peter yelled, "Coming!" Neal put on his best face when El disappeared and Peter came in view.

"Hi," he went back to his apologetic smile. "Sorry to interrupt lunch, but do you have a moment?"

"Sure," Peter shrugged casually "And you're mister...?"

Neal froze. He could feel the weight of the tracker around his ankle.

"...Haversham. Nathan Haversham." He wiped away his confusion with a blinding smile.

"Pleased to meet you Mr. Haversham." Peter's eyebrows furrowed, the way they usually did when he was onto something or getting a hunch. "Have we met?"

"...yes." What was wrong with Peter? Neal was tense. He had been confused and worried since he woke up, and the feeling was only getting worse. "Well not really. You see, I just moved into the apartments over there on the corner, and I've seen you around the neighborhood a few times. I just came over to check, do you have a dog?"

Peter looked surprised. "Yeah, yeah we do-"

"Oh good, I got the right house! You see, I saw a white dog running down the alley, a really big dog like yours, and I just thought I should let you know." Neal shrugged and spread his hands, the gesture full of good will and innocent social awkwardness.

But Peter seemed to smell the lie. "Thanks, but that's not us," Peter reassured. "We've got the puppy in a crate. Haven't even taken him for a walk yet. The kennel said to wait a week until he was felt secure in his new home. So that wasn't our dog. But thanks anyway."

Neal's smile dimmed in confusion, and he took a step back. "I see. Just thought I would be a good neighbor. Um, I'll go try the next house."

Peter stepped forward. "No need. There's no other white dogs on this street. You should have just called the humane's society. How did you know we had a white dog, anyway?" Peter crossed his arms.

Neal brought the disarming smile back, though he knew it wouldn't work. Not when Peter had that calculating look in his eyes, weighing Neal's steps back.

"I just saw you bring him in, that's all."

"Last Saturday?"

"Yeah, last Saturday."

"Cuz we got him on Thursday."

Neal smiled sheepishly, inwardly unnerved. It should feel safe when Peter trapped him. It didn't.

"Look, sorry about this misunderstanding." Neal turned and walked away.

"Wait." Neal obeyed. Then winced, stupid, stupid, and started walking again. Peter called after him. "At the door, you asked for me by name. How did you know?"

Neal turned around, but kept walking backwards. "Your wife said your name."

Peter followed him down the front stairs, and onto the sidewalk. "No, you said my name first. Who are you?"

"Look, I don't want to be on your bad side," Neal began.

"You already are." Peter put his hands on his hips. "Now who the hell are you?"

"Just a friendly stranger," Neal smiled.

"Alright, I'm arresting you." Peter grabbed his wrist, and pulled it behind his back.

This was not the way he wanted things to go. "Woah, woah, on what grounds? I'm on a public sidewalk, I'm leaving you alone, I haven't done anything-"

Peter pulled the other wrist behind his back, and held them both with one large hand. "Suspicious behavior. It's good enough to bring you in."

Neal groaned, and Peter tugged him towards the house, and called the bureau on this sunny Sunday morning.

\---

In the interrogation room, Nathan Haversham firmly said nothing except, "I want my lawyer."

"Oh, he's coming.” Peter reassured, then stared at the young man. “On Monday.”

Nathan sighed. Peter stared him down. Nathan tapped his fingers.

The young man broke first. "Look, I don't mean any harm okay? I was just...confused. Didn’t know where I was."

Peter pursed his lips and did not look sympathetic.

"I'm not stalking you or your wife!" Nathan insisted.

" _How_ do you know me?"

Nathan almost bit his lip. But he smoothed the worry away. Peter thought, _This young man is good at controlling his expressions._

"I just do. And I'm confused that you and El don't know me."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Don’t call her that. How do I know you?"

Nathan Haversham hesitated, then shrugged.

"Do I know you because of that strange tracker around your ankle?"

Nathan waved the subject off. "I've got nothing to say until my lawyer is here."

Peter pressed forward, leaning over the table. "Want to know why I brought you in? Because you were annoying and suspicious, and I wanted to discourage you from bothering me and my wife. I figured you’d be intimidated if you spent a few hours under arrest. But now that we see you have that tracker on you, we aren't letting you go. So, are you going to tell me what's going on?"

The young man shrugged, restless and uncomfortable. "I don't know what to say."

"The truth is always good."

Nathan leaned back in his seat, and looked helplessly. "Sorry, I'm not sure what the truth is."

Peter's eyes narrowed again, weighing the young man’s defeated body language. "Why were you at my place?"

Another shrug. "To talk to you."

"About what?"

"Just about…nothing much. It's just that today had been weird."

"What to you mean?"

"It's nothing."

"Did you want anything from me?"

"No."

Peter weighed Nathan. "What did you have to tell me?"

Nathan’s head tilted a bit to the side, considering honesty. "Nothing important."

"Okay. Why is it not important?"

"Because I am now arrested, and in the FBI custody. I've got bigger problems now."

"If you weren't in FBI custody, what would you be telling me?"

Neal's head tilted to the other side, considering dishonesty. "I don't think I would be telling you anything if I wasn't in FBI custody." He tapped the heal of the tracker against the table.

"Take your feet off the desk." Peter ordered. Nathan did.

"Let's try another angle. What triggered you to come to my house today?" Peter asked.

The young man leaned back, and stared at the wall. He seemed to be remembering something.

Peter didn't push, just waited.

"I was worried." Nathan Haversham admitted. "I tried calling, and..."

"Who did you call?" Peter asked.

"No one."

Peter did not feel frustrated. This was progress. "What was the call about?"

Now Nathan sat up straight. "I woke up in a..." Peter watched Nathan intently for honesty, and Nathan gave it. "...in a hospital. I didn't know why I was there. So I tried...calling someone for help. That didn't work. So I, uh, wandered about. Until I was on your street." Nathan looked extremely uncomfortable with the answer. It was halting, and made no sense.

But it was mostly honest, and Peter could use it.

“Until you were on my street, on my doorstep, asking about my dog.”

“Yes.”

"You tried calling me."

The young man’s eyes flickered to Peter’s, and Peter knew he had hit the nail.

"What number did you call?" He pushed paper and a pen to the young man. Nathan tapped the pen a few times, then gave in and wrote an unfamiliar phone number down.

"That's not my number."

The young man shrugged, and looked away.

Peter had been watching this young man for almost an hour now, and he couldn’t tell yet what the secret being held back was. The face was faintly familiar. And this Nathan Haversham, whoever he was, had guilelessly tried to come to him. Then had backed away with lies to cover his tracks. Why would someone come to Peter Burke, FBI Special Agent?

"Did you come to me for protection?" Peter asked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title** : Kicked Out of Time, Part 2  
 **Author** : [](http://shingo-the-pest.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://shingo-the-pest.livejournal.com/)**shingo_the_pest**  
 **Rating** : PG-13  
 **Characters** : Neal and Peter, may become slash  
 **Spoilers** : none  
 **Warnings** : WIP  
 **Summary** : Neal suddenly finds himself in the past. And Peter is no longer his friend. _“Do I know you?” Peter asked. Neal’s smile slowly dropped._

Neal had woke up that day cold, in a thin hospital garment, under thin sheets, with the air conditioning far too high.

The hospital bed was small and his elbows and toes hit the chilly metal railing. A nurse had him sip water from a plastic cup. He drank it down all down and asked her for more, smiling gratefully.

"What happened?" He asked her.

"We hoped you could tell us," she laid a heavier blanket over him. "What's your name?"

He smiled. "Neal Caffrey."

She wrote it down. "You had no wallet on you. The police found you unconscious."

Neal glanced at his hands, saw black ink on each finger. His fingerprints would put up red flags as soon as the results came back. He might as well get a hold of Peter.

"Can I make a call?"

\---

When he had called Peter's cell, no one answered.

His clothes from yesterday were hung in a small closet across from the too small bed. There was dirt and a bit of grime on them. He hated to see any of Bryon's clothes ruined, and hoped they would be fine after a bit of cleaning. The nurse allowed him a shower, and when she wasn't looking, Neal snuck away with a white doctor's coat on. He went straight to the Burke's house, an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach at not being able to reach Peter's phone.

\---

Sunday afternoon, in the office (where he should /not/ be on Sunday) Peter was getting frustrated with the stranger who showed up on his doorstep.

The young man was half honest, half deceitful, and eventually Peter gave up for the day and left "Nathan Haversham" in a holding cell. Nathan had protested but didn't fight or run as he was placed in the cell. He looked forlorn and lonely as Peter left. Peter felt a bit guilty, but satisfied too. Peter didn't tolerate liars or pests, and one night in a cell wouldn't hurt the young man. Peter went home to El, and enjoyed what was left of the weekend.

The next day, amidst all the research for other cases, Peter began digging for Nathan Haversham. His results were very empty.

He stared the young man down through the cell bars. "There are /no/ Nathan Havershams in New York."

Nathan raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his bench. "Not even one? This is New York, there has to be at least one."

"None."

Nathan's eyes darted to the left, realizing that it had not been the best alias. He shrugged, like it didn’t matter. "Okay. Not a big deal."

"You aren't very good at coming up with aliases, are you." The corner of Peter's lips quirked.

"I can be good at it."

"You don't work well under pressure?"

"I do!"

The corners of Peter's mouth twitched, and he left before the smile could break out.

\---

The jailers grudgingly allowed Neal a newspaper when he asked. He had to talk them into it.

The date on the paper said June 23, 2002.

Neal took a deep breath.

"Hello! Hello!" He reached through the bars and waved the guard over. "Hello, thanks. I was just wondering, could I have a current newspaper? This one's old."

The guard frowned. "Yesterday’s paper too old for you? Deal with it."

"No, no, I don't mind yesterday’s paper, I was just looking for something from this year." Neal pointed to the date.

The guard looked where Neal's long finger pointed, looked at Neal, huffed in disbelief, and walked away.

"That's not an answer," Neal called after him. The guard ignored him.

\---

Hughes called the US Marshalls and asked if they recognized the tracker.

"They've never seen the anklet or the signal before. Completely unidentified."

Peter sighed. "It looked pretty high tech."

"It's impressive. The tech guys don't recognize it, and are very intrigued."

"So not our tech?"

"Nope."

Hughes frowned and shrugged.

"Who is this kid, and who was keeping track of him?"

Peter shrugged. "Dunno."

"We took his fingerprints, and a saliva test. No DNA matches. His prints don't have a match in the system either. So he hasn't been arrested before."

Peter suggested, "CIA might have prints."

"Unless we have reason to believe he's part of a big crime, we're not going to bark up that tree. Tell me, do you think he's a criminal?"

"I dunno. But I don't want to let him out of my sight until I know what's going on."

"I understand. Open up an unidentified person case, with potential identity fraud, but don't neglect our real cases Burke. You have an update on the bank hold up from Friday?"

"Sure do boss."

\---

The tracker was gone from his ankle, and Neal wasn't sure if he should be relieved or not. It felt like another connection had been taken away.

So the next time Peter visited his cell, just after lunch, he asked Peter, "What about my finger prints, what do they tell you?"

Peter shrugged. "Nothing. You're prints aren't in our database."

Neal's eyes went wide, and he leaned back slowly. The FBI had his prints, his DNA, his dental records, even a retinal scan.

Peter was watching him closely. "You seem surprised."

Neal couldn't find the words to explain his confusion. He shrugged, at a loss.

"What hospital did you wake up in?" Peter asked.

"I don't really remember. I think it was Mercy in Brooklyn..."

Peter's eyes narrowed, knowing he was lying. Neal wondered if he should tell the truth.

What would happen if he did? He didn't know. He didn't know what was going on or what was at stake. He didn't want jail. He just wanted his friends, and his life back.

"You're clamming up," Peter accused. Neal just smiled helplessly at him.

\---

The lawyer who showed up to represent Neal looked very apathetic. He explained he would represent Nathan Haversham should any charges be pressed, and he was there to protect Nathan's rights.

"Can you get me out? They don't have anything on me, so they can't hold me."

"No, they can't. But they can investigate you, under grounds of suspicious activity and suspicion of false identity. Do you have anything to hide?"

"Honestly? I don't know if I do at this point."

"Then just don't run. We want your address, where you work, and a number to contact you at.” He pushed release forms to Neal.

Neal hesitated, then wrote down bogus information. He wondered if they would check it.

\---

They let him go.

Neal felt cast away, and a bit lost. But this strange and unnatural situation had opened up possibilities. He was free again.

"Come on, let’s go. We've got nothing to charge you on, even with the tracker. So up and out, let's move." Peter told him.

Peter escorted him out, and watched Neal walk down the steps. "Don't leave town." Peter called. "I'm keeping my eye on you."

Neal hesitated, and turned around, looked up at Peter. "Can I ask you for a favor?"

Peter shrugged, not feeling very generous.

"Can I have your phone number?"

"And why would you need that?"

"Just, in case, you know. Please?"

Peter gave in, with a grudging sigh, and handed Neal a business card. "I don't take social calls. And don't drop by my house uninvited. I'll find an excuse to arrest you again."

Neal Caffrey nodded, laughed a little.

So Peter added. "And if you need any help, you can, you know. Call me." Peter sort of smiled. While trying to look stern and serious.

Neal smiled. Then walked away.

\---

The number Peter gave him was not the one Neal was familiar with. It explained why he hadn't been able to reach Peter before.

Neal got his hands on a credit card, and bought spare sets of clothes from a consignment shop with no security camera. He threw the card away, then got cash from a few loose wallets, and found a four star hotel to stay in. He could get better, but he needed to stay inconspicuous.

Should he head out of town and disappear? Should he set up a fake identity and start a life as Nathan Haversham? It wouldn't be ideal, but at least he had some connections this way. He wished he could talk to El.

It was June 2002.  In Philadelphia, he and Kate would be drinking wine from an expensive bottle and pretending they were in Paris. His younger self may even have begun planning the fake promotional business right now. Come December, he and Kate would steal their first heavy piece of artwork. Should he reach out to his younger self? Warn him about the future, warn Kate? They wouldn't listen to him. They might even change their plans, and his knowledge of the future might change. It hurt to think about it. He would have to tread carefully with them.

There was someone he knew who was closer than Philadelphia. One cab ride brought him to Bull Dog Storage where he slipped past the guard, and made his way down isle Q. He couldn't remember the exact unit, but it was one in the middle.

A computer hum came from Q-56. Neal knocked. All humming suddenly stopped, as if someone had pulled a cord.

"Hey Moz, I know you're in there," Neal called.

Muffed, he heard, "There's nothing important here!"

Neal smiled to himself, "I bet you're trying to hack into NASA's system."

The storage door lifted, and Mozzie squinted up at Neal. "How do you know that?"

"Because you think they're a bunch of liars. Careful, if you annoy them too much, they'll track you down. You’ll have to abandon your current equipment."

Mozzie waved it off, "They're not on to me yet. And I don’t know you.”

“Not yet. I’m from the future.”

“Ha! Haha! The future he says. As if I would be so gullible. What do you want?”

Neal spread his arms and smiled. “I just want a good friend.”

Moz poked him in the chest. “The price of friendship is far too high, especially from strangers who have investigated me. Not interested!”

"I can tell you the future, believe me. Brazil will defeat Germany in the World Cup this year."

Moz looked skeptical. “Posturing. I don’t believe you.”

"Has Rosemary Clooney died yet?"

Moz gasped, affronted. "No! And if that comes true, I'll turn you in for murder."

"Ted Williams too."

"No, I don't believe you!"

"I can't set /all/ that up. You have to believe me."

"No. You're strange, and I don't like you." Moz adjusted his glasses and glared, in a very squinty way.

Neal put his hands in his suit pockets and leaned back. "Then, ignore all that. Moz, I would like to work with you. I would like to set up a jewel heist."

Moz looked reluctantly interested. "To steal what?"

"The Emperor Ruby."

"Tempting, tempting. But I don't like working with strangers."

"One hundred thousand dollars. Surely I don't look like that much of a stranger?"

"Hmmm..."

"You'll be impressed with the way I can cut a fake diamond."

"I'm...intrigued. You can come in and talk. But no promises!"

Neal smiled. "Right now I'll take anything I can get."

\---

Neal left that night with a lighter step. Moz had slowly opened up, and the company felt good. On his way back to his hotel, Neal bought a prepaid cell phone and a postcard. With his phone he sent Peter a friendly text message. The postcard he sent to Philadelphia.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Title** : Kicked Out of Time, Part 3  
 **Author** : [](http://shingo-the-pest.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://shingo-the-pest.livejournal.com/)**shingo_the_pest**  
 **Rating** : PG-13  
 **Characters** : Neal and Peter, slashy hints  
 **Spoilers** : none  
 **Warnings** : WIP  
 **Summary** : Neal finds himself in the past, alone. He's free, but is that worth the loneliness? The Peter from the past doesn't know yet what a handful this suspicious conman will prove to be.

First thing in the morning, Peter checked his phone for calls from work. There had been no calls, but he found the first text message he had ever received.

The message said, _Your dog likes spaghetti. - Nathan_

Peter stared at it.

"What are you looking at honey?" El asked.

Wondering at the bizarre person he had allowed into his life on Sunday, Peter looked away from the phone to her, explaining, "A text message."

"Who would send you a text message, sweetie?" No one sent texts to Peter.

"That weirdo from Sunday. Here, look at this," he shoved the phone at her.

 _"Your dog likes spaghetti._ That's strange," El puzzled over the message.

"It’s inane. He’s either a lunatic or he’s trying to hold my attention." Peter shook his head and saved Nathan's phone number, then started dressing for work.

"Send him a message back. Say something funny."

"I'll send him a text that says, _No_ or _Go away._ " He pulled his pants on. "I told him to not call me casually."

"He's good at getting around the specifics."

"Too good. Don't trust the guy," Peter grumbled.

"You're cute when you're disgruntled," El smacked him on the cheek. "Make me breakfast?"

\---

While pouring pancakes, Peter called the phone number Nathan had sent the text from.

"Hello?"

"I told you I don't take casual calls. Don't abuse the privilege."

"But it’s okay if you call me. Besides, this isn’t just a casual call- I'm trying to stay out of trouble. You told me not to skip town, and I wanted to update my contact records. This is my new phone number."

Peter narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What happened to the contact number you put down?"

"I lost the phone. Also, I got kicked out of my old apartment. But I can give you the address of the hotel I'm staying in."

What a crock of lies. "Right. And this is related to your lack of ID?"

"My wallet was stolen!"

"Of course."

"Anyway, I just wanted to be official about all this. I'm not trying to skip out or hide at all. Want my address?"

\---

After a good morning call from Peter, Neal dressed in his new clothes, settling into the feel of them. Not as wonderful fitted as Byron's tailored suits, but a decent cut. Not too attention catching, or too overpriced.

He left a tip for room service, and strode out. He would need pocket money, $100 or more, for the daily things. He went to a high end department store and picked pockets.

When his pockets full enough, he headed over to Bull Dog Storage, right at 1:00 pm.

"You're punctual," Mozzie greeted.

"I'm where I need to be when I need to be."

“I like that in an accomplice. Not that I trust you just yet. But I’m intrigued by your idea to steal the Emperor Ruby...especially since it’s in _Europe_. Was your plan to do this by carrier pigeon?” Moz raised an eyebrow.

“No, but I like your pigeon idea. We are going to steal it here in New York.”

Moz stared at him the way he usually stared when Neal had said something particularly ridiculous and obtuse. “…how?”

Neal’s shoulders danced from side to side in contained glee. “Because it’s coming here.”

Mozzie’s jaw dropped. _“No.”_

 _“Yes._ To the Helzenburg museum."

 _“No._ It's going to be covered with security! Transit is when they’ll be on their highest guard!”

“Yes, but it’s also the best moment to switch it with a forgery, and completely bypass breaking in.”

“They’ll have an examiner verify it before it’s put in place.”

“That my dear Moz, is why this is a con, and not a burglary.”

Moz looked skeptical. “You’re going to impersonate an examiner? The Helzenburg have their own examiners, who they have worked with for years. They’re not going to use a newbie, not for this.”

“Moz, you don’t think I would try to impersonate an examiner, do you?”

Moz’s eyes narrowed. “I’m getting the feeling you are.”

Neal winked. “Not quite.”

\---

Moz is able to dig up the phone number of the Helzenburg Museum’s director. "Hello, my name is Noah Pichler. I would like to set up an appointment with director.”

The secretary answers, "He's very busy. Can I ask what this is in reference to?"

"This is about the delivery on June 30. I'm calling on the behalf of Mrs. Sophie Gruber, the Austrian benefactor. I'd like to speak with Director Mitchell _before_ June 30th please." Neal added just a touch of urgency to his voice.

"Right away sir. Just a moment while I check his calendar." She placed him on hold.

Neal turned to Mozzie. "I bet she's going into the director right now."

The secretary came back. "Sir, thank you for holding. Director Mitchell would be happy to meet you right away. Would tomorrow at 11:00 am work for you?"

Neal smiled. "Absolutely."

\---

A great lead on money counterfeiting turned into a messy day when cocaine and a dead body showed up in the main bedroom of a thirty thousand dollar mansion. Peter spent the day talking with NYPD and the FBI's Narcotics division, going over each other’s notes while Hughes and the rest of the team tried to get some ground work done without stepping on anyone's toes.

He finished the day trying to pull up at least some of the research needed for the bank robbery from last week. He almost stayed late to dig deeper.

But at 5:33 pm, he stopped himself, and put all the files away. The case would still be there tomorrow. There were more important places to be. He made it home at 6:10 pm, refusing to lose the time he could be spending with El.

"I'm home!" Peter pulled his shoes off, and looked forward to the welcome back kiss El would come give him.

Instead, she called from the kitchen, "Welcome back honey! Look, you should see this!"

Disappointed, he trudged into the kitchen, where the white (and big, it was true) puppy was up on his hind feet, dancing for noodles.

El beamed, dangling pasta. "He really does like spaghetti!"

This did not make Peter happier. "Aw El, shouldn't we be feeding him healthy food, you know, for dogs? That can't be good for him. It'll make him fat. And he'll want to eat our food now."

"But he's so cute~!"

Peter sighed. "Next, you'll teach him to sit at the table with us."

\---

The postcard was from New York, and had a picture of the Empire State Building on it. On the back the sender had only written, "Stand Together". It looked like Neal's cursive. It was postmarked yesterday. Neal and she had been in Philadelphia this whole time.

Kate ran her fingers over the postcard, but found no writing marks beyond "Stand Together". She held the card up to the light, but saw no hidden markings or watermarks shine through. The image was relatively opaque, but glossy. She lit a candle and held the postcard cautiously over it, but no hidden ink came to light. The card was unusual and cryptic, but there were no hidden messages on it.

Neal was on the phone with a customer. She could hear him deeply getting involved convincing the customer to trust them for just one month more. She wouldn't interrupt. She set the postcard aside.

\---

The next morning Neal walked over to the White Collar office, and watched from afar as agents and clerks entered. He sat at a little cafe across the street. It would become a store eight years from now, but for now he bought coffee with bagels. He paid with cash.

He sat under an umbrella that shielded him from security cameras, and watched as the agents and clerks arrived for work. He saw Peter jog up the steps wearing the same tan coat that Neal saw him in everyday. Neal smiled softly.

Hughes and several other familiar agents showed up for work. Neither Lauren, Diana, or Jones appeared. Lauren would graduate from Quantico in 2009, Diana and Jones sometimes before that. None of them worked for the FBI in 2002.

The morning rush died down, and Neal sipped his coffee, finishing it. Hidden by the table umbrella, he stood up and turned to leave, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Peter rush up the stairs, talking on his normal black cell phone, hanging up as he ran into the building.

But Peter had entered the building fifteen minutes ago.

Neal froze. Then pulled out his prepaid phone and dialed the number he knew by heart.

It rang once, twice, then, "...hello, this is...Pe...urke." Static danced over the connection.

Neal's heart shot up into his throat. "Peter, is that you?"

"...eel...neal! ...ere are you? Your tracker...disapp..." Static built up, and then the line went dead.

Frantic, Neal dialed again. No connection. He tried again. The number was unknown.

He tapped his foot, stared at the phone, stared at the Bureau.

 


End file.
